Breakthrough
by pfchristine
Summary: What if the barrier between Robert Goren's world and ours wasn't absolute? Have you ever wanted to visit Bobby's world, or have him in yours? Come see. - Chapter 13 is up. Bobby and Carrie, reunited!
1. Chapter 1

Carrie Lewis settled into the well established dent in her aging sofa with a sigh and pulled the orange chenille throw over her feet. A steaming cup of sweet, strong black tea and a Tivo full of her cop show completed her comfort ritual. Yet, as the opening teaser rolled, she found she just couldn't settle. Even the first glimpses of her favorite detective hovering over a victim, standing on the backs of two church pews, gesturing with his long, elegant hand, failed to soothe her. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been able to fall into the story and let the world disappear, but tonight her worried thoughts intruded.

Finally, she gave up with an annoyed shake of her head. Hauling out the files crammed into her large gym bag, she spread them out on the coffee table. For over an hour she studied them, stacking and restacking them in front of her. She tried arranging them by cash flow, by investor, by asset fluctuation... every different way she could think of. Carrie just knew there was money missing, but damned if she could figure out where it moved off the radar. She stretched her stiff neck, pulled off her small, square reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing back the headache that hovered just behind her eyes.

Leaning back, she glanced at the episode in progress on the screen. Her detective, she'd always thought of him as hers, was glaring at a map with over a dozen pins in it, rubbing his fingers over his lower lip, willing the murders into some sort of pattern. "You and me both, buddy," she said with a sigh. "I'm kidding myself here. Why did I think that just because I dream about solving crimes with you, that means I can do it in real life?"

This needed to be analyzed by police with actual expertise, not a Law and Order fan with delusions of grandeur. Carrie wondered if the police laugh at her if she brought her suspicions to them in the morning? Even worse, might they charge her for stealing these files from Mr. Slater's office? _Well, that was just a chance I'll have to take_, she thought. Leaving well enough alone was not in her nature.

That settled in her mind, she relaxed into cozy depths of the sofa cushions and let her eyes drift closed. Her detective's coaxing voice floated around her as he led an unsuspecting perp into his carefully crafted trap. That's another thing she couldn't remember, she thought with a yawn... the last time she'd fallen asleep without his voice in her room, in her ears, in her mind. As he pulled the criminals toward revealing their secrets, he pulled her into slumber, into dreams, into his world.

* * *

Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD's Major Case Squad lifted a desk calendar out of his way and pulled off his shoes, tossing them to the nearest CSU uniform. He sat on the desk, spun around and planted his sock feet on either side of the dead man, leaning close and carefully pressing a cloudy eyeball with one latex covered index finger. An uneasiness came over him that had nothing to do with the dehydrated corpse in front of him. Something felt wrong. The body still held it's secrets. Eames still smirked and asked if he was having fun... yet his attention fractured... pulled toward the other side.

Few in his world perceived the other side or the people who inhabited it. They moved through the plot of their lives unaware that "The Audience", as he'd come to think of them, infused everything that happened to them with meaning and vitality. They had no idea that when things felt flat and depressing, it was due to or lack of attention or enthusiasm from those watchers. Goren didn't really know why he could sense their presence when no one else around him could, but he accepted it as part of himself in the way that he accepted his ability to pick up crucial, minute clues, see patterns in a seemingly unrelated array of clues or identify the subtlest of smells. Sensing what others did not was part of the fabric of his life.

However, "sensing" hadn't meant "being distracted by" before now. He'd never had a problem focusing on the case in front of him. It troubled him. _No_, he thought, tilting his head and considering, he wasn't troubled by the distraction. Trouble was distracting him. As the flickering light indicated a break, he slipped through the gap and let his mind wander over to the other side, seeking the source.

He wasn't surprised to find his attention drawn to a familiar, comfortable living room and the usually comfortable woman sitting in it. His brow furrowed as he noticed, for the first time in his memory, that she seemed agitated... not really with him. _Yes_, he thought, _that's it_. Whenever she was part of the audience, he was used to her being so much a presence in the story that he could almost feel her at his side. Her fascination, admiration and devotion infused everything that happened with purpose and grace. The lack of it was like a dissonant buzz in his ears.

The lights flickered again and he returned to his case, keeping half of his attention on her as he worked. She was nervy, scowling, and he wished he could put his arms around her, rest his chin on her hair and talk her into her to telling him about it. He watched her fetch stacks of files and stole glimpses of them as he could. As in his cases, the puzzle she was wrestling with quickly caught his imagination. It was something about embezzlement or money laundering, but he couldn't quite get a hold of it with constantly needing to return to the case in his own world.

As one case ended and another began, Goren willed her to let go of her obvious frustration. He knew she could be like a terrier once she latched on to a problem. If she would let go and join him they could talk through it, together, collaborating on the problem as they had so many times with his work.

Eventually, he saw her sit back and mock herself for thinking she could really solve crimes on her own. He wanted to chastise her for that, tell her she had as fine an intellect as he'd ever encountered in his world or hers. At the same time, he was concerned about the idea of her or anyone not on the job investigating on their own. Too often that was a recipe for disaster… it was easy for a civilian to underestimate the danger until already over their heads.

He'd get her to tell him the whole story. It wouldn't be long now. He could feel her mind and body relax and start to slip toward him as his case wound down to the final interrogation.

Though his words were for the strange, sad man in front of him, moving him inevitably toward realizing the patterns that revealed his crimes, his tone was for her. Like the proverbial pied piper he drew her toward him, weaving a spell with his voice that reeled her into the place they had shared since the first episode years ago. She knew it as her dreams. To him, it was simply home.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep wrapped around her like a down comforter on a frosty night. His voice was a low, persuasive murmur guiding her toward him. The words were indistinct but the meaning was unmistakable: _Come... come to me_. As the warm, fuzzy fog cleared, she found herself exactly where she expected to be, in the cozy, book-filled room that mirrored her own in shape, but full of life shared.

In front of her, nearly filling her field of vision stood the oversized frame of the man she'd spent every night with for the past three years. One step brought her into his arms and she rubbed her cheek on the soft fabric of his shirt, her head tucked into it's nook under his chin.

"Carrie" he said and she felt her name rumble in his chest as much as heard it over her head. Bobby rested his chin on her sleek hair and breathed in the scent of her. She smelled a bit like honeysuckle, clean earth with a slight undercurrent of lemon. He folded his long arms around her and shifted back and forth slightly, the hum in his chest more vibration than sound.

Eventually he kissed the top of her head and pulled back to guide her over to the sofa, the twin of the one she'd just left, tugging her down next to him and pulling her legs across his lap. The long fingers of one hand tangled automatically with hers while the other was free to roam.

"You were distracted this evening," he observed, his fingertips leaving a little shiver in their wake as they ran absently along the length of her leg.

Carrie blew at her bangs. There was no point to side stepping. Avoiding telling him something he wanted to know was a talent she lacked. "It's work," she confessed dismissively. "That low-life, Mr. Slater, is at the bottom of the accounting weirdness I've been complaining about. I'm sure of it. I just can't seem to put my finger on how he's doing it without attracting anyone's attention." In spite of her unconcerned tone, she ran her fingers absently through the thick sweep of her hair and gave the ends a frustrated tug in a gesture he found as endearing as it was familiar.

"It attracted your attention," he pointed out mildly.

"Yes, well, for all the good that does."

"How many times have you helped me work through a case and found the key that turned the whole investigation in the right direction?"

"That's not me," she insisted. "That's just you needing a sounding board. Once you get all those observations and theories outside of your head and shuffle them around a bit, you always come up with the answer."

_This is perverse_, she thought to herself. _You know you want to talk to him about this but you just can't resist trying to see if you can nudge him off of his train of thought_. Well, keeping Bobby Goren on his toes came as naturally to her as breathing, and she wasn't planning on stopping that any time soon either.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," he said with a sigh. "It's more than just re-arranging my thoughts. It's talking them over with you, integrating your observations with mine. It's the process of collaboration that produces results. Why can't you understand that you are as important a partner to my thought processes as Eames is to the investigative process?"

This was an old, well traveled argument without a satisfactory resolution. Why were they trodding it again? He looked closely at her face, eyes narrowing at the slightly smug expression around the corners of her eyes as she sensed her imminent success at steering him off the subject. _Not so fast_, he thought, rising to the challenge her quick, if devious, wit.

"Something happened to make you so worried tonight that you weren't really with me on the case." He noted her pique at being thwarted with satisfaction but not the guilty duck of her chin. "Hey," he dipped his head to catch her eyes, "It's okay. It's just never happened before, which means something significant happened that held on to your mind. Now tell me."

He dropped his chin a fraction and fixed her with his intense, penetrating gaze. _Oh, that's dirty pool_, she thought even as her resistance melted like ice cream on a summer sidewalk. "Okay fine," she huffed, exasperation leaking in to her tone. "What's the point of having a sexy detective to escape to in your dreams if all he wants to do is talk about your day job?"

Humor crinkled the corners of his mouth but he'd locked on to his goal and there was no turning him away from it now. "Tell me," he said again.

Carrie knew when she was licked. "Mr. Slater got a phone call today. I don't know who it was, but Sheila, his assistant, said it was a guy who was pretty rude and wouldn't identify himself to her, just insisted on talking to 'Slater'. Nobody calls him that at work, it's always 'Mr. Slater', you know?" Bobby nodded his quick confirmation so as not to interrupt her flow.

"Well, he took the call and swung his door shut but it didn't latch. He was really mad but trying to keep it low. I've never heard him like that before. He's always so slick like nothing could stick to him. Then he just left and was gone for the rest of the day. He didn't even tell Sheila to reschedule his appointments for the afternoon."

Her words picked up speed as the story tumbled out. "He forgot to lock his office door. In all this time I've never been able to prove anything because the files were always locked in his office. So I," she glanced at his eyes and then away again. "I snuck in after everyone went home for the day and... I stole his files."


	3. Chapter 3

"I stole his files." The rockslide of her confession came to an abrupt standstill and she looked at him, bracing herself for his reaction instead of breathing.

"That's what I was afraid of," he said wearily, his forehead dropping to hers. "Did you even think about the danger you might be putting yourself in?"

She'd been ready for temper, but the worried resignation in his voice broke something in her. "I'm sorry," she said, though he knew she only regretted his worry and not the actions that engendered it. She wrapped her arms around his big shoulders and drew him in close. "There just wasn't another way. I'll get them back in place in the morning before anyone gets there. I'll just need to stop at a 24 hour Kinko's and make copies for the police before hand."

A quick jerk of his head expressed what he thought of that idea. "No," he said firmly. "You aren't going back there until he's in custody." Gently shifting her aside, he got up and started to pace. "Once you've passed the point of no return by breaking the law, there is no clean way back." He cut off her protest with a gesture. "No matter what you think, even experienced criminals can't cover every track completely, and you're far from being an expert in that area." He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. "You need to take the proof directly to the police and then stay out of your routine until they've got him."

"But I don't have any proof." Carrie said quietly.

That stopped him and his eyes whipped around to her. "What do you mean you don't have any proof? I thought you said the proof was in the files you stole."

"Well... yes… but no." She rushed ahead, waving him off. "I hoped to find proof in the files but I can't." She gestured to the haphazard piles covering the coffee table. "For some reason I thought if I could get my hands on his files, I'd find the truth just tucked in there like a Crackerjacks prize, but he's too smart. I know it's there, but the trail is so convoluted I can't follow it. I'm hoping the police will be able to do a better job."

Bobby knew the odds were only about even that she'd happen to get the ear of a detective at the NYPD who would be able to ferret out evidence of a complicated financial crime. That sort of thing was a specialized skill and she no access to a Major Case detective in her world. Even if they took her seriously, it might take weeks for them to build a case, and all that time she could be in danger. He would have no way to protect her.

Pacing again he stopped, gestured at nothing, abruptly changed direction and paced some more. Carrie watched him silently, knowing this was no time to interrupt his thoughts. Mentally though, she was poised on the balls of her feet, ready to take off after him in whatever direction his mind sprang to next. What he'd said earlier was absolutely true. She had a fine and agile mind... the only one he'd ever encountered that could keep up with his and even occasionally leap ahead or pick up something critical dropped along the way. Bright on their own, Bobby Goren and Carrie Lewis were brilliant in combination.

For three years they'd been dancing this dance together. Since the first case, the premiere episode for her, their connection had been immediate and intense. He'd sensed her out there, on the other side, before he even understood the nature of their dual worlds. She was just, there, barely outside his peripheral vision, creating a sort of momentum to his thoughts that had the clues clicking into place.

About halfway through, while he was in an interrogation room with a forger they were pressuring into giving up the leader of a diamond heist and four homicides, he caught a glimpse of her. He tilted his head and dipped forward at the waist, bending until he was nearly horizontal... searching... and in an instant of suspended time, there she was.

That lovely face was rapt with attention, her lips, pink and swollen from her worried teeth, were parted for a breath she'd forgotten to take. Her legs were crossed and tucked beneath her as she leaned forward, dark, thick hair tucked carelessly behind her ears and fair skin flushed with excitement and anticipation. But it was her eyes that caught him, dark and deep, knowing him though he'd never seen her before, accepting him as though his troubled history was irrelevant, willing him forward with a confidence that said she knew he could do the impossible.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the scene was in motion again. He caught the perp's eyes, drawing them up with him as he straightened. Goren knew how to get him. The girlfriend was the key. He also knew that, while the knowledge was his, the impetus behind it somehow flowed from her. As the case unfolded he was aware of her urging him to zero in on crucial, obscure clues. He heard her slightly ruthless chuckle as he tricked the ringleader's girlfriend into helping them by convincing her that her boyfriend had given her HIV. He felt her pride and satisfaction as the last of the offenders was led away in handcuffs.

Now here she sat with that same expression on her face. Their astonishment had faded, but the intensity of their connection had never diminished. He couldn't imagine living without it. No, his precise and logical mind corrected him, he could imagine it. He just had no interest in experiencing it.

He shifted his attention from her to the files. _She said the answer is there but she couldn't find it. Well, she may not have access to a Major Case detective in her world, but she has one here_, he thought. If they could find that answer together, she could go to the police with evidence rather than speculation.

A moment of eye contact told her the direction of his thoughts and she reached for a file at the same time he did. From long practice and habit, they fell into an easy rhythm of studying the case together. The city around them had lapsed into as much middle-of-the-night silence as New York ever did, even on a quiet street. The whisper of shifting paper only served to accentuate the quiet as they pointed out relevant fragments of data to each other or speculated on one angle or another in the hushed tones of deep concentration.


	4. Chapter 4

A couple of hours later, they had it narrowed down to half a dozen possible accounts. They were all based in the Caymans, but that wasn't unusual enough to arouse suspicion. What was a little harder to explain was, when taken as a group, there was a clear pattern of predictably sized deposits going through them. Though Bobby picked up on the pattern first, it was Carrie who latched on to the final clue.

"Look here," she said moving one file and then another in front of Bobby's eye line. "The names and address of the corporations are different and so are the names of their banks. But the routing and account numbers..." As she pointed to them in succession, the connection leapt out at him.

All six dummy corporations appeared to be separate entities and almost conspicuously unremarkable. They appeared to have nothing in common, not even one shared financial institution. That in itself was a noteworthy lack of coincidence, but the international routing numbers listed for those apparently different institutions told the tale. They were identical. Not only that, but they hadn't even set up different account numbers, just made up different bank names.

All the money was being funneled through one account in the Caymans. A quick internet search of the routing number confirmed the identity of the bank on Grand Cayman and the fact that it had ties to a bank on Nauru, a small island nation in the south Pacific currently under investigation for money laundering activities. It wasn't the whole ball game, but it was enough to get the NYPD most of the way there.

Their eyes met and identical slow smiles crept across their faces. Then suddenly, with a squeal of triumph, Carrie launched herself forward, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. Bobby chuckled his surprise into her lips and she pulled her head back with a wide grin. His arms banded around her as he tipped backward on the sofa, pulling her over with him until she rested on his chest, her dark, chestnut hair falling to form a curtain around their faces.

His lips reached for hers, warm and full of affection. _God_, she thought to herself, _how is it that a man who deals with horror every day can still be capable of such sweetness_? She met his affection with a tenderness that spoke of familiar intimacy and banked fires. Her fingers tunneled through his salt and pepper curls. Her tongue sought out a taste of him.

Warmth blossomed into heat as her weight shifted slightly to tilt her hips into him. Approval rumbled in his chest. He curled one leg around both of hers, trapping her tight against him. Hands, impossibly graceful for their size, scraped the hair back from her face and held at her nape as passion licked through them, hot and delirious. The kiss broke and their eyes locked, full of power and hunger, drawing out the moment before they plunged into each other again.

Without warning, her whole body jerked in a terrifying spasm that ripped her head back and away from him. He grabbed for her as her eyes flew open wide with shock, pain and fear. Adrenaline blasted through every muscle in his body as a ribbon of scarlet trailed down the left side of her panic stricken face.

Something like a blow to the solar plexus crashed into him then, knocking the air from his lungs as it dragged both of them down and away. Desperately, he held on to her as a sickening blackness pulled them under. Her eyes rolled back, closed and were lost to him as the roiling whirlpool tore them apart and spiraled him away from her. His stomach clenched and he lunged for her but the black torrent was too strong and dragged him away, roaring in his ears.

Then he heard it. He heard... her! Piercing through the howling nothing came Carrie's voice, high and thin. "_Help me!... Bobby please... I need you... Bobby please come..." _Digging deeper than he thought possible, he surged toward the sound. Icy fingers wailed and scratched at him, trying to pull him back. Growling with pain and effort, he drove forward, latching onto the lifeline of her pleas, pulling himself toward them with a determination that knocked everything else out of the way.

As violently as it came, the storm left him swaying on his feet on the opposite side of the room. He barely registered the ways in which this room differed from the one he'd just left. His attention was dominated by the sight of Carrie, limp as a broken doll, lying unconscious on the sofa in the flickering light of the television. Above her loomed the dark shape of a man, his arm raised high, ready to strike her again.

Rage, searing and primal, launched him across the room at the menacing figure threatening his woman. Covering the distance in two large strides, he grabbed the intruder and heaved, a yelp of surprise erupting from the man as he flew through the air. He hit the top of the wall three yards away with a crash and dropped to the floor taking a small watercolor print with him and smashing through a shelf of potted violets below. Even as he hit the ground, Bobby was on him again, but there was no need. He was knocked cold.

Diligence born of training and long experience had him quickly checking the limp form for a weapon and reaching for cuffs clipped to his belt. Not finding them there registered as the reality of the situation came rushing back to him. Satisfied that the heap on the floor wasn't going anywhere soon, Bobby straightened and turned around.

The small living room in which he stood was not the book-filled refuge he came home to every night in his world. _No_, he thought with a growing sense of incredulity, _this is Carrie's apartment… the one I see when I look through the screen_. Even as this realization surfaced, he was in motion. Crossing back and dropping to his knees beside her inert form, he swallowed his panic at all the blood, stark and sickening in contrast to her impossibly pale face.

His trembling fingers found what they sought, her pulse, pumping strong and steady at her throat. Relief washed through him. At his touch, she shifted and moaned slightly, her eyelids fluttering open. Dazed and disoriented, she raised a shaky hand to the angry red gash at her hairline and winced. Bobby caught her wrist and drew it away, her eyes finally focusing on his face.

"Carrie? Can you hear me baby?"

"B…Bobby?" She lifted her fingertips to his face, the blood on them leaving a dark smudge on his right cheek.

* * *

**A/N:** _Thank you all for your kind reviews. I can't tell you how much they've meant to me. I treasure every one of them. There are more chapters coming, so please keep letting me know how you think I'm doing._


	5. Chapter 5

Carrie looked up through glazed eyes at Bobby's concerned frown hovering above her. _That isn't right_, she thought. _He should be smiling at m_e_. We found the evidence… we were on our way to some celebratory nookie. So why does he look like someone ran over his dog? And why is my face wet… _

She lifted a hand to her forehead and stared uncomprehendingly at the dark liquid dripping from her fingertips as her hand was pulled away. _Why is it red?_ she thought, wondering vaguely how she could have spilled something red on her face. She heard Bobby's voice as though he were in another room. _But he's right here…_

"B… Bobby?" She reached up to confirm it was really his face in front of her. It wasn't until she saw the smear of red on his cheek that she realized it was blood. _Blood! _Her addled mind leapt to the wrong conclusion_, Bobby's bleeding!_ Fear hit her like a wave and she jerked herself upright. Another wave hit bringing crushing pain that knocked her back down. She struggled against it as it pinned her, clawing for a thought that she could hang on to but they slipped and skittered just out of reach.

_Was that Bobby's voice?_ She stopped struggling, his features coming back into focus before her. Yes, she could see he was saying something and concentrated on the sound through the pain clanging around her head.

"Hold still baby… Shhh… just breathe… try not to move," his voice coaxed.

Carrie took a breath, then another. One piece at a time, things started to float back to her. _Blood,_ she thought, _not Bobby's blood, my blood… on my face... my hand… his cheek_. She tried to reach up again to rub the smudge off but found she couldn't lift her arms. His large hands held her, firm but gentle, around her upper arms.

"Wh…?" She took another steadying breath. "What happened? Did I fall?"

Bobby looked into her eyes. Good, he thought, she's starting to put thoughts together logically again. If she's bleeding she must be injured, if she's injured how did it happen, what's the most likely cause, a fall. This wasn't the first concussion he'd seen and he knew the confusion was normal. That it was lifting quickly was a positive sign that brought his heart rate down a couple of notches.

"You were hit on the head." He kept his voice even, slow, easy to understand. "You have a cut on your forehead. Head wounds bleed a lot, but it doesn't look too serious. You lost consciousness for a minute or two, so you probably have a mild concussion. Do you understand?"

Carrie nodded and instantly reaped the consequences of moving her head. This time the pain took her breath away but didn't knock all thought right out of her brain. She closed her eyes and slowly drew some air back into her lungs. _Steadying breaths good,_ she thought,_ nodding bad_. Then another thought occurred to her. _He said I was hit on the head, not that I hit my head_.

She opened her eyes again and looked at him, his face coming into focus much quicker this time. She patted his arm and he loosened his hold, helping her carefully shift herself into a sitting position. Bobby pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and folded it into a pad. He placed it over the cut on her forehead and lifted her hand to hold it in place. She dutifully applied pressure and only winced a little.

"How did I get hit on the head, Bobby?"

_Ah,_ he thought, _she picked up on that subtle distinction_. That was good news from an injury standpoint but he was hoping not to get into that just yet.

"First things first," he redirected. "Tell me your name. Do you know where you are?"

"I'm Caroline Lewis and you're Robert Goren. I'm in our apartment…" She glanced past his shoulder and frowned. Something wasn't right. Here eyes narrowed, then flew wide. "I'm in MY apartment!" For a moment her thoughts scattered again. Was she hallucinating? This was definitely her apartment… and this was definitely Bobby, right here in front of her. She dropped the handkerchief and caught his hands in hers, squeezing. They were solid and warm and grasped her hands in return. Her eyes, full of questions, rose to meet his.

"Yes." His voice stayed steady but his eyes expressed the gravity of what he was saying. "I'm here, with you, in your apartment."

"But… how?"

He blew out a breath. "I don't know, baby. I really don't know."

Carrie slowly nodded, stunned but coming to realize that she wasn't hallucinating or dreaming.

"I know you have questions." There was a note of urgency in his voice. "I do too, but that will have to wait. We have things we have to deal with right now. How are you feeling? Do you think you can stand up if I help you?"

"Yes," she stated firmly, pushing the flood of questions behind a door in her mind to be dealt with later. She wasn't sure she could stand, but figured an extra shot of determination made up for a certain lack of confidence.

Bobby replaced the handkerchief and she pressed it in place once again. Taking her free hand in his grip and wrapping his other arm around her waist, he gently pulled her up. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit her, but once again steadying breaths were her friends and she leaned into his comforting solidness, eyes closed, until it passed.

He held her against him and let her catch her breath, hating that he couldn't let her rest longer. He looked at the motionless figure of her attacker, still sprawled in the wreckage of the plant shelf. The man's breathing was steady and his color wasn't bad. He could come to any time now, and Bobby did not want her in sight when he did.

Feeling steadier, Carrie opened her eyes and looked around. The strong arm around her waist saved her from falling to the floor as her knees buckled at the sight of the unconscious man on the other side of her living room.

Her shocked gasp confirmed Bobby's suspicions.

"Mr. Slater!?!"


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby swept his free arm up under her knees and carried her down the short hall to the bathroom. Carrie was barely aware of the trip, her mind racing and stalling, racing and stalling. _Mr. Slater is unconscious in my living room. He must have attacked me and knocked me out. Bobby must have stopped him... saved me. Bobby..._ she stalled. The contradictions crashed into one another in her mind.

_Bobby Goren is a character on a TV show. I dream about him but he's not a real person. A hallucination can't carry you down a hallway, let alone knock out a criminal in your living room, yet his arms are solid and warm around me. _

_Mr. Slater must have gone back to his office after hours and found his files missing. It probably wasn't too difficult to figure out who might have taken them. Finding my home address wouldn't have been a challenge either. How did he get in to assault me without waking me up? I'm not a light sleeper but someone forcing open my apartment door would surely have woken me up... but I was fast asleep on the sofa dreaming about Bobby_... and there she stalled again...

Carrie watched him incredulously as Bobby deposited her gently on the lid of the john and changed the handkerchief for a hand towel. He was in full crisis management mode. While the incredibility of the situation was not lost on him, it was pushed far enough aside not to slow him down. A quick appraisal of the gash on her forehead in the light over the vanity confirmed the injury was superficial but would probably need a few stitches. The bleeding had already slowed to an ooze.

The bathroom was fairly small, with the toilet and vanity facing each other on either side of the door and an oversized bathtub along the back wall. It was a tight fit, but Bobby squatted down in front of her, her free wrist wrapped in his large palm. She was still too pale, but her pulse was strong if just a little fast. Her eyes were wide and questioning, but he judged that to be more due to surprise than confusion from the head wound. She was holding her own, breathing slow and steady and holding herself upright, not in danger of tipping over.

"Carrie," he said in serious but steadying tone. "I have to go secure the apartment. Will you be okay here on your own for a few minutes?" She nodded. "Good. I don't expect any trouble, but if you hear anything... anything at all, I want you to lock the bathroom door and don't open it for anyone but me, okay?" She nodded again. "Honey, I need you to say it to me."

She repeated the instructions back to him in what she thought was a pretty clear voice, considering. With a quick nod and a reassuring squeeze of her hand, he slipped out the door and shut it behind him. _Focus on something concrete_, she told herself. Carrie took a deep breath and tested her physical condition. Her vision was close to normal, she could make out the facets on the glass knobs on the vanity. The headache was still with her but it was down to a steady pressure, not great but bearable as long as she didn't move too quickly. Her stomach was behaving itself for now and she couldn't feel much from the cut as long as she kept up the compression.

When she looked up at the mirror over the vanity across from her, the sight of her reflection nearly knocked her over. She was still pale as death with one whole side of her face smeared with drying blood. It was matted in her hair as well, and stained the shoulder of the old, gray SUNY sweatshirt she'd pulled on after work. She grabbed a washcloth and started wiping at her face, choking down a hysterical giggle when the random bizarre thought bubbled up that people spent hours trying to create this very look just last week for Halloween.

Bobby was back down the hall to the living room and a few strides. The man on the floor wasn't quite conscious yet, but was starting to groan. First priority was to immobilize him before he came around enough to try and fight or flee. Without his cuffs, he scanned around the room for something to use.

Spotting no good candidates, he stepped into the small kitchen. Tilting his head to one side, he instinctively reached for the bottom drawer to the left of the sink. Sure enough, along with assorted batteries, tools and other odds and ends, was a roll of duct tape... just where it was kept in other apartment. With a little shake of his head at the implications of this, he snatched it up.

Slater was just starting to move when Goren re-entered the living room but was not coherent enough to put up much of a fight. A few quick, efficient moves had the dazed man flipped over and his legs and wrists secured with the duct tape. He had quite the lump growing on the back of his head, but other than that he wouldn't have more than a few bruises.

Goren checked the apartment next. All of the windows were locked and showed no sign of tampering. The entrance door, on the other hand, was closed but unlocked. He didn't think Carrie was that careless, no resident of New York City was. Sure enough, a quick search of Slater's pockets produced a ring with three keys on it, the plastic keychain black with red and blue lettering on it: "Law & Order – Criminal Intent". On the flip side, his own face looked back at him. The corner of his mouth twitched into a half smile. As expected, one of the keys fit the front door lock perfectly.

Just as he was about to head back to Carrie, Bobby spied something on the floor, half under the sofa. Dropping to one knee, he leaned down for a closer look at the object. He pushed it out into clear view with the edge of his shoe, not wanting to disturb fingerprints any more than he already had with the keys. It was her remote control, bloody with a few strands of hair caught in the cracked black plastic.

There was no doubt that this was the weapon Slater had used to bludgeon her. The fact that it was plastic was probably the reason Carrie wasn't injured more seriously than she was. Bobby looked over at the stone carving of a sleeping cat that sat on the end table right next to where her head had been and shuddered. If he'd chosen that rather than the relatively flimsy TV remote, it might have gone right through her skull. _Thank God he was an amateur_.

He straightened and glanced back at Slater who was now glaring at him from the floor. As a man, Bobby wished he could pick him up and start hitting him again, not stopping until he was unrecognizable and preferably not breathing. As a cop, Goren wanted to get him into interrogation, grinding him down for hours in a small, gray room until he gave up everything needed to put him away for good.

In the end, logic won out. He wasn't a cop here, let alone a detective with the Major Case Squad. Now that Carrie was safe, her attacker neutralized and the apartment secure, the only thing he could do was tamper with evidence. If he wanted this scumbag in prison for his crimes, he needed to back off and get the police in here as soon as possible.

Bobby tapped on the bathroom door and waited for Carrie's reply before he entered. She had washed all the blood from her face and was awkwardly wiping at her hair with a wet washcloth in one hand while still keeping pressure on her forehead with the other. He took the cloth from her and rinsed it, gently taking over sponging the last of the blood from her hair. He checked her wound and was pleased to see the bleeding had stopped completely. He cleaned the area as carefully as he could and taped on fresh gauze with antibiotic cream from the first aid kit.

Carrie watched him silently as he did all of this. He was so gentle yet careful and thorough. Her confidence grew with every movement he made. This man was no stranger to her. His actions matched the Bobby Goren that she'd been watching for three years now. No gesture was unfamiliar. Every tilt of his head, purse of his lips, right down to the angle of his shoulders as he worked over her told her that he was the man she knew.

As he turned to stow the first aid kit back in the medicine cabinet, she caught his hand and pulled him down to face her. In those deep, dark eyes of his she saw the only thing she'd ever really needed to see. Oh there were questions in those eyes, probably along the lines of 'how is this possible'. But underneath that was the same mind, same heart, same… person he'd always been.

Bobby looked into her beautiful, coffee brown eyes and felt his heart clench. He didn't know why he was here in her world, but at some point he'd come to accept this reality as fact. Now he searched her eyes, looking to see if she could do the same. Not wanting to push her, he set aside all the arguments that came to his mind and waited, breath suspended in his chest, for her to form a conclusion.

Carrie lifted her hands to his face, touching his forehead, eyebrows, the short slope of his nose, the serious set of his lips, the five o'clock stubble on his chin. His hair curled around her fingers as if it wanted to hold on to them as they moved over his scalp. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, hesitantly at first, her eyes still open and on his. Then, with a small sound more eloquent than words she gave herself to the kiss and to the reality of him.

Bobby's hands came up to her face, holding her as though she might break. His lips were both giving and needy, promising her he'd be everything she needed him to be and asking her to believe in him, to want him, to love him.

Back and forth, asking and answering, their conversation flowed. In the language of lips, tongues, touches and wordless murmurs they reassured each other and realigned themselves to this new reality. They did not know how or why, but as they finally broke apart, they both knew that they were just as firmly what they'd always been, for each other.

That slow, familiar smile of triumph stretched across Carrie's face. Her eyes were bright and alive as they always were when they solved a difficult case or puzzle together and he couldn't help but mirror her expression. _My God, she has gorgeous eyes_, he thought for the billionth time.

"Bobby?"

"Mmm?"

"What now?"


	7. Chapter 7

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, now things get a little more complicated." He reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, wishing they could have a little more time alone before the world intruded. "You need to call 911... and the sooner the better."

"And tell them...?"

"Yeah." Standing, he turned and tried to pace but couldn't move more than a step in the cramped bathroom. He settled for leaning against the vanity, one arm crossed over his chest and the other holding his chin.

Carrie chewed her lower lip for a minute. There was no way she could have stopped Slater, let alone knocked him out by herself, so pretending he wasn't here was out of the question. "Couldn't we come up with a reason why you were here? Maybe you're a friend of mine who ran out for a pack of cigs and returned to find my boss attacking me?"

It didn't take his detective's mind long at all the poke holes in that story. "If that were the case, how do you know me? Where are the cigarettes and where did I go to get them? Why doesn't the clerk remember me? Who am I? Why is there no record that I exist? How did..."

She threw up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it. They'd probably need you to testify too and who knows how that would work. So what is our alternative? Should I just say I woke up and Slater was already unconscious? What if he wakes up?"

"He's awake now." Bobby spoke through his fingers. "I tied him up with duct tape. He's not going anywhere."

"So he's seen you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," he said absently. The urge to pace was nearly overwhelming. As it was, he could really only turn one way and then the other. "I'm not so worried about that. He doesn't know who I am and if his story doesn't make sense, it can be chalked up to the head wound."

Carrie took a deep breath. "How... how did he get in here?"

He looked at her sitting straight, face composed, hands clasped in her lap, and his heart swelled. If bravery was doing what needed to be done in spite of fear, she was a case study in it. Just half an hour after being attacked, here she was, asking about the elements of the crime so she could help formulate a plan. Instinct told him her hands were clenched together like that to keep them from shaking. As much as he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her it was okay, not to worry, he knew what she needed now was for him to accept her brave front at face value and give her straight talk, not platitudes.

Bobby reached in his pocket and pulled out the Law and Order key ring. She took it with a shaky hand and stared at it as if might bite.

"Yours?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," she croaked, throat suddenly dry. "It's my spare set; building key, door key and mailbox key. I keep them in the back of my desk drawer at work. He… he had them?"

Bobby nodded. "In his pocket… left the door unlocked." His head tilted to one side. "I think that's the way to work the story. The door was unlocked, a stranger in the hall hears the assault, comes in and subdues the attacker, makes sure you are okay and calling the police, then leaves. In the confusion you forgot to get his name."

"So I'm not supposed to know you? Should I give a phony description?"

"No, your story should match Slater's as closely as possible. Be accurate but vague, if for no other reason than the truth will be easier to remember. You're going to have to testify to all of this later. If you start making things up, it'll be harder to be consistent." Part of him couldn't believe he was giving advice on how to lie to the police and get away with it. It scraped against his conscience, but there was a larger priority at stake here… keeping Carrie safe by putting Slater in prison. They couldn't afford to have any problems with her story that might give a defense attorney wiggle room.

Carrie read the conflict in his knitted brow and stood up, placing her hand on his arm. "It's okay. I won't actually have to lie." He looked at her quizzically. "All I have to say is I woke up confused and a man was in my apartment helping me. When they ask if I know you, I can say I thought you looked like a cop on the TV show I was watching before I fell asleep. What are the odds they'll ask me if I believe it really was that TV cop?"

Leaning back against the vanity, Bobby pulled her in between his legs and wrapped his arms around her, admiration in his eyes as he gave her a speculative look. "I'm glad you didn't decide on a life of crime."

Tucking her arms around his waist, she looked up at him, her face carefully blank, but her eyes gleaming with mischief. "How do you know I haven't?" she asked blandly, arching one eyebrow in an expression that would have made Joan Crawford proud.

That got a smile out of him, and he dipped his head to kiss her, still a bit carefully. _No matter what the song says, a kiss is never just a kiss_, she thought, letting the warmth seep through her. _They all mean something_. This one, she judged, meant he was happy she was who she was, and grateful for whatever moments they had together. _Well, I can second that emotion._

Bobby gave her a quick squeeze and then released her. "It's time to make the phone call. There will be uniforms at first, but they'll assign a detective to the case shortly after. There will be paramedics as well. Don't give them any grief about going to the emergency room," he said, noting her slightly mutinous expression. "Hey, that cut needs stitches and you need to be checked out. You were only out for a minute or two, so they shouldn't keep you there. Just... pretend you're lucid."

He pretended to wince when she socked him in the arm for that crack. "What about you? Where will you be?" she asked.

"I'm… going to take a walk." It made him a little crazy that he couldn't be by her side through this, but being irrational about it wasn't going to help her. "Is there a 24 hour coffee shop nearby?"

"Yes, on the corner."

"Okay. When you get back from the hospital, I'll be here or in the coffee shop. Unless…" He suddenly felt unsure of himself. _Who am I to assume there isn't someone she'd rather have by her side through this?_ "Is there someone you want to call and stay with you?"

"Bobby," she grabbed both of his arms and looked him straight in the eye. "You are the one I want to stay with me. There isn't anyone else."

Her tone and the look on her face said that if he didn't stop talking nonsense, she'd sock him in the arm again, and his heart melted all over again. _Damn, but she is beautiful when she's fierce. _As much as he wanted to kiss her his apology, time was beginning to weigh on him and he needed to stay focused. He settled for a sheepish smile. "Um… okay then. If the apartment is empty, I'll be here. If not I'll be in the coffee shop."

"But what if…" Carrie couldn't bring herself to finish the question. The elephant in the room was the fact that they still didn't know how or why he came to be there in the first place. How could they be sure how long that might last?

Knowing what she was asking, Bobby took both of her hands in his. "If for some reason… I can't be here, then turn on… my show and go to sleep watching it like you always do and I'll see you at… home."

Carrie nodded solemnly. Just then they heard a thump and a muffled crash from inside the apartment.

* * *

**A/N:** _I've only got another chapter or two ready, and I'm having trouble deciding where to go next. So I'm looking to you for inspiration. Where do you see things going for Carrie and Bobby? What about the case... should we resolve it or add complexity? Do you want more development of the world-jumping or would you rather see Bobby take on the challenge of having to start over in our world? I'm open to your suggestions!_


	8. Chapter 8

He was through the door in an instant. In the time they'd been talking, Slater had managed to scootch his way as far as the small dining alcove next to the kitchen. That was most likely his intended destination, hoping to find something sharp and cut himself loose. Unfortunately for him, the space was small, as was the case in most New York apartments, and he'd knocked over a dining chair on the way. And it had landed on him.

Carrie's cell phone sat on the hall table across from the bathroom door. Bobby handed it to her. "Make the call now. I'm going to have a chat with our friend."

Deliberately, he walked back down the hall and across the living room to the alcove. He lifted the chair laying sideways across Slater. With icy casualness, he pushed the bound man over onto his back with one foot and set the chair upright over his chest, pinning him painfully in position. Straddling the seat, Goren sat, crossed his arms on the chair back, looked down at him and waited.

It didn't take long. "You don't know who you're dealing with," Slater sneered, all bravado. He even put on a touch of a Bensonhurst accent. _Interesting_, Goren thought with a tilt of his head_, our boy wants me to think he's a wiseguy. Let's see if he really knows how a wiseguy plays the game._

"Don't I?"

"What you want to do here, is start thinking about your future." Slater kept his voice controlled and menacing, but Goren could see the fear behind his eyes. "My associates would be very... grateful to a man who helped me take care of business here tonight... and very unhappy with a man who got in the way of that."

_Not bad_, Goren thought. _He's no wiseguy, but he's connected on some level. He knows the rap. _More than anything, this gave him an idea about whose money was being laundered through the accounts Carrie was trying to expose, and the possibilities did not put his mind at ease. _Okay, time to take control of this conversation._

"What you fail to understand, is that you are done." Goren's voice was low, mocking, and as cold as January in Siberia. "The girl," he jerked his head toward the back of the apartment where they could hear Carrie on the phone with 911, "she's callin the cops right now. Your... associates... already think you... are a bad risk." Goren didn't think a man's face could get any paler, but Slater went from pallid to parchment. _Direct hit._

"As I see it, you've got two choices. Door number one, you can be a good boy, wait quietly and hope the police can protect you," Goren leaned in, "or door number two, I can earn your 'associates' gratitude by taking care of you for them right now." _Breathing rapid and shallow, panic sweat breaking out on forehead and upper lip... he's about to break. Time to take it home._

"So what's it gonna be?" Nothing but petrified silence. "Door number one?" Still nothing. "Door number two then. Good, I could use the exercise." In one fluid motion, Goren stood, tossed the chair aside and hauled Slater upright by the lapels of his jacket.

"Door number one!!!... Door number one!!!!!!" The voice was somewhere between a shriek and a whimper. So much for bravado.

"I thought so." Goren put him back down with a thump and stepped to a closet just inside the archway to the kitchen. He pulled a vacuum cleaner, mop and broom out of his way, clearing the front half of the closet, the back half being taken up by shelves full of cleaning supplies, pots and pans and dry goods.

Hauling Slater up again, Goren stuffed him in the closet and saw him slump to the floor as he closed the door. _Are those tears running down his cheeks? _He shook his head and picked up the fallen chair, wedging it under the door handle. _He won't be in there long_, Goren assured himself. He didn't want him dead... but uncomfortable and scared shitless? Yeah, he could live with that.

Hearing a quick intake of breath, Bobby turned to see Carrie watching him, wide eyed, from the hall. _Damn. _He was fully aware of what a frightening bastard he could appear to be when he tried, but he never wanted to show that side of himself to her. The phone was dangling in her hand and she looked like a light breeze would knock her over. _Damn._

Carrie watched him walk toward her, his head down, shoulders slightly hunched, hands thrust into his pockets. All she could think was, _Wow_. She'd seen him intimidate suspects on television, but to see it in person was... unbelievable.

After completing her call to 911, she'd ignored the operator's request that she stay on the line until the police arrived and hung up, stepping out into the hallway. She'd been just in time to see him sitting over her attacker, speaking in the lowest, scariest voice she'd ever heard. Then, when he picked him up and thrown him in the closet... well he was about the hottest thing she'd ever seen or imagined. Carrie thought she'd melt on the spot.

He sidled up to her, not making eye contact, trying for all the world not to look like the big, hulking brute she must think he was. With a gesture of entreaty he said apologetically, "Carrie... baby... I'm so sorry.." He got no further because she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply. It was a few seconds before he responded, so profound was his shock.

Bobby pulled back, searching her eyes. What he found there was not the horror or revulsion he expected but... hunger. Before he could really process this, she kissed him again, pulling a groan from him as she pressed her body into his. The taste of her, the smell of her, the way she rocked against him overwhelmed his senses and cracked something loose in him. Reaching around, his large hands cupped her bottom and pulled her into him as he took over the kiss, mindless and needful, lost in an undertow of lust.

Everything that had happened that night was fuel for the bonfire that blazed through them. Somewhere in the back of Carrie's mind she knew this was crazy, but for right now all she could think about was the huge, sexy beast consuming her. His fingers tangled in the ends of her hair and she moaned as he pulled her head back, exposing her throat to his ravenous mouth.

It was astonishing that they even heard the wail of the sirens approaching, but when they did they jumped back from each other as if hit by an electric shock. Breathing ragged, blood pounding they stared at each other with molten eyes.

"I've got to... um... are you gonna be... did I..." _Smooth Goren, real smooth. What the hell? She's hurt you jackass. _

"Yeah... um... I don't know what to... I just... but ya, you need to..." Carrie shook her head. She hadn't sounded this ridiculous since she was in high school. But the sirens were getting closer and there wasn't time to say a tenth of what they needed to. Instead, she took the front of his shirt in her fists. "We'll finish this conversation later."

Bobby lifted his palm to her cheek for a moment, ran a thumb over her swollen lower lip, then slipped out the door.

* * *

**A/N:** _Okay, this was my favorite chapter yet. I'm not the only one who wants to jump Bobby when he's all physical and aggressive like an avenging warrior, am I? It's okay... you don't have to tell me. I know. Thanks for all your suggestions for future chapters... I'm listening, so please keep them coming!_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I made a few changes to this chapter in anticipation of more story to come soon. Nothing major, I just tightened up the writing a bit, added a detail here and there. If it's better, the thanks go to squarey for her fantastic beta-sugestions.

* * *

The next two hours were a blur for Carrie. First came the uniformed officers who took her statement and retrieved Slater from the broom closet, mumbling something about witness protection. Next paramedics checked her out, re-bandaged her head and took Slater off in an ambulance. Last came a pair of detectives asking twice as many questions as the uniforms. They looked at each other a lot and made a bunch of phone calls when she showed them the financial files and told them about the missing good Samaritan.

Finally, one of the uniforms led her to a car to take her to the emergency room at St Luke's, her cut not having been judged serious enough for an ambulance. Carrie leaned against the back seat and closed her eyes. It was the first moment she'd had to collect her thoughts. Her headache continued to throb and she tried to focus on the larger questions of the day, but found her mind kept slipping back to the heated exchange right before Bobby left the apartment.

She tried to feel shocked at her behavior, practically attacking him like that over his display of male aggression, but couldn't quite work up the energy for it. It's not like danger types were her usual style or anything. Though if she were to be honest, it'd been years since she'd had much of a style at all when it came to men. Still, she was raised by the feminist generation to set more store in intelligence, honesty and sensitivity than brutish physicality. But of course she already loved him for those qualities, she rationalized. What's the harm in getting a little hot and bothered over him being an big, strong male specimen as well? As the black and white squad car surfed the green lights along the empty avenue, Carrie grinned to herself and let her mind wander like the early morning grey that crept over the city.

* * *

Bobby slipped out the service door and walked around a block he didn't recognize. The street sign on the corner announced he was on the upper west side. Though his apartment looked like Carrie's from the inside, he lived in Brooklyn. He hunched his shoulders against the early November chill, the lack of a coat making him grateful it was a windless night. Early morning, he corrected himself. He saw the coffee shop, but didn't go in. He was too restless to sit still for long. The different events of the evening clamored for his mind's attention.

Tempting as it was to focus on the feel of Carrie pressed up against him, her mouth hot and hungry under his, he deliberately set it aside for now. It had surprised him, but it shouldn't have. Life and death situations made for intense, and sometimes unpredictable reactions. If there was anyone who could understand even the darkest parts of him, of course it was her. As for his own reaction, well, he let himself go with the rationalization that the reason he didn't want to think about it was that there were more pressing problems to be dealt with.

Instead, he focused on the probability that Slater had been a medium level money launderer for the mob. If he was right about that, then Carrie was in danger from a much worse threat than a middle aged white collar criminal who would choose a TV remote as a weapon. He hoped the detectives she ended up with would know enough to keep her name under wraps and Slater in protective custody if he cut the deal Goren expected him to. Frustration that there was little he could do to ensure those measures were taken frayed at his concentration.

_Information_, he thought. _I need access to information if I'm going to have any hope of protecting her. Hell, I don't even know the mafia families in this world_. He glanced at his watch, 4:30AM. Four and a half hours until the Midtown branch of the New York Public Library opened. By that time, he should be able to get back into Carrie's apartment and research online.

Goren cut through an alley back towards where he started. Sure enough, the other end of it gave him a good view of the front of Carrie's building without being visible. Two squad cars were already parked there, and within minutes an ambulance pulled up and two EMT's headed in. He allowed himself one minute to long for a cigarette. He'd quit years ago, but had never quite gotten over regretting it. Now he smoked only when someone offered him one. The odds of that looked mighty slim to him at the moment.

He turned his mind the next question in the hierarchy of priorities. Until tonight, all he could do was mentally slip through the gaps between scenes into this world, but it'd been like out of body travel. No one in this world could see or perceive him in any way. All he could do was watch while his body stayed in his world like an anchor and seemed to stare off into space. One of the benefits of being the department oddball was that people rarely disturbed him, assuming he was contemplating some great theory of a crime.

On the other hand, Carrie crossed over to his world physically all the time. What was the difference? Well, she doesn't cross by an act of will, I have to call her. If she falls asleep on her own, she doesn't make it and dreams normal dreams instead. For her the gaps between worlds were just as she fell asleep or awoke. She didn't realize they were there... she just slipped through it following his voice. She slipped back again as she awoke.

When he came this time, he didn't have a gap... but he was hanging on to her. He must have been dragged along with her through her gap. Maybe that accounted for the violent maelstrom he experienced. _So am I somehow asleep in my world?_ He had no evidence, but he doubted it. For one thing, he hadn't fallen asleep. Also, Carrie always had an awareness that she was dreaming. She had a sense of the tether to her sleeping body in her own world. _I... don't._ He blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. _I'm not even close to figuring this out._

Twenty long, cold minutes later the EMT's and a couple of uniforms emerged from the building with a cuffed Slater supported between them just as two detectives pulled up in a beige sedan. One hopped in the back of the ambulance with Slater while the other talked to the uniforms who would accompany their suspect to the ER. Goren was too far away to pick up much conversation, but he did hear "St. Luke's" as the detectives headed inside, one of the uniforms riding in the ambulance and the other following in their squad car.

Blowing into his clasped hands to warm them, he dropped back into his reverie. The next question, of course, was how long would this last? Would he be able to step back to his world through a scene gap or would Carrie have to drag him back with her again. For that matter, how would she get back there herself without his voice to guide her?

If he was stuck here, he'd have to start from nothing. He had some cash in his wallet, but he doubted he had a bank account on this side. No apartment, no job, no birth certificate or social security number. He was pretty sure he could manufacture enough documentation to get by, but not enough to fool a police background check, which meant a career with the NYPD was out of the question.

He thought of his work at the Major Case Squad. For years it had been his whole purpose for being. Who was he if he wasn't chasing down bad guys? He thought of Eames. She would be alright… but he would feel like he was missing a limb without her. _I wonder if she will feel the same? _

A picture of his mother flashed across his mind then, but he shut it down hard. Bobby just couldn't deal with the thought of her being all alone in the world he'd left behind, never knowing why he'd abandoned her. Reflexively, he wondered if she'd notice his absence or just keep perseverating on her other missing son, Frank, but then banished that thought as well.

The sight of Carrie broke through his stormy thoughts as she walked the few steps from the door to the remaining squad car. If he stayed here, they could be together full time, a real couple. _Would she want that?_ He studied every aspect of her for the few moments she was in view. She was all bundled up in a deep red wool coat, walking steadily without assistance. The bandage on her forehead was new and her color looked better but the tightness around her eyes told him the headache was still pretty bad. As the car pulled away and rounded the corner, he thought if he had to rebuild a life from scratch, he couldn't ask for anywhere better to start than her.

They had turned in the same direction as the ambulance, so there was an excellent chance that they were running her over to St. Luke's also. He felt an overwhelming urge to follow her. St. Luke's had one of the largest emergency departments in the city… it shouldn't be hard to blend with the crowd there. More importantly, he'd be close by if anything happened. On the other hand, the detectives would probably leave the apartment soon and he could start his internet research on the local mafia.

As he weighed the relative benefits of both courses of action, another vehicle pulled up and parked. It was a CSU van. Well, I guess those detectives were bright enough to see that this is more than a simple home invasion and assault. That was a good thing, but it meant the apartment would be occupied for at least a couple of hours. Bobby turned and jogged back down the alley, turning up the block toward the nearest subway entrance.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As expected, the ER lobby at St. Luke's was relatively busy, even at 5AM on a Wednesday. He was able to find out from reception that Carrie had already been taken back into the fast track area where they treated non-life threatening injuries and illnesses. Goren picked up a discarded Times and found a corner with a clear view of all entrances and exits. He started with the metro section. The sooner he started orienting himself, the better. Interestingly, the news of the day wasn't much different than it was at home. It was a reverse case of "the names and some of the details have been changed to protect the innocent", as the TV announcers used to say.

As he filed away facts, he also watched the people around him. Here, he was on much more solid footing. Nothing seemed out of place whatsoever. It was as if he'd walked into St. Luke's on the other side. He'd finished the Times and made it about halfway through a month old Newsweek when he made the detectives approaching the information desk. They weren't the same ones that he'd seen outside Carrie's apartment, but one cop knew another whatever world they happened to be in.

The older one looked like pile of clothes left too long in the drier. The younger was…blond. Movie star blond. The Marlboro Man with blond hair… and no mustache. But the eyes were all cop. Even as he scanned the room, giving the appearance of being slightly bored and stretching his shoulders, Goren saw him take in every detail. To try to hide from him would only draw his attention, so when the detective made him, Goren lifted his chin a fraction in acknowledgment of a colleague and got the same in return. He returned to his magazine, hoping to be passed over as off duty and waiting for someone, but those eyes stayed with him a fraction too long. Still, he looked away quickly enough that Goren knew he hadn't been really curious.

Det. Dennis F. Hatton noticed the big cop heaped in the stiff chair in the corner. Something about the man gave him pause. _Was he a tad too casual in his nod of greeting? Have I met him somewhere before?_ Whatever it was, it wasn't worth trying to figure out now. Hatton walked right past the line of people waiting at the information desk and flashed a charming smile at the pretty brunette on duty. "Hiya Marcie, how's life on the graveyard shift?"

Marcie immediately turned away from the impatient woman she was helping and parked a hip against the counter. "Detective." Unconsciously she licked her lips and leaned forward a bit to give him a good view. "Getting better by the minute. How's life on the hunt?" If she noticed the rumpled collection of wrinkles that was his partner, Det. Gil Cantor, she gave no sign of it.

"Never a dull moment. Hey, I'm looking for a guy. Should have been brought in here half an hour ago. Name of..." He looked at his note pad. "Jay Slater. He been seen yet?"

"Mmm... I'll check." Tapping slowly at her computer, Marcie tried to figure out a way to draw out this little conversation with Detective McHottie. Nothing came to mind. _Rats_. "Yeah... He's in Exam 4. Through the double doors, down the hall to the right" Her voice dropped to what she thought was sexy huskiness. "Hey, I'm out in a few minutes. My shift ends in forty five and some breakfast would sure hit the spot."

Hatton grinned at her. The receptionist was a cute little package with her short, glossy curls and curves in all the right places, but he had only one purpose in mind here and it didn't include her. Still, a little flirting for info was like WD-40... a spritz here and there kept things moving along smoothly. "Are you attempting to influence a police officer with the promise of donuts?"

"Of course not officer." She batted her eyes with dramatic flare. "I was thinking more along the lines of sharing some breakfast sausage..."

_You walked right into that one_, he thought with an inward groan. _Time to move this show along. _"Sorry Marce, tempting as the menu is, duty calls." With a wink he headed off. Hatton had forgotten the little exchange and Marcie before he was halfway around the circular reception desk.

Marcie turned to watch him go with a sigh, ignoring the irritated throat clearing of the woman in line. The sandy hair that fell across his forehead, blue eyes with the little crinkles in the corners, ruggedly handsome face and build that looked like it'd be just as comfortable in a cowboy hat and chaps as it did in the fine wool coat he wore... _Ooo baby_.

"You really missed the boat back there," observed Cantor. Hatton raised a quizzical brow at his partner of nearly twelve years. The older man shrugged, having perfected the look of bland innocence decades ago, "Halliday's is right across the street. They make one hell of a western omelet."

Hatton grinned as they flashed their badges to the uniformed cop standing outside Exam 4. Inside, Cantor started in directly with the intros and questions. Even if Hatton wasn't more comfortable hanging back and watching the perp for tells, he'd let his partner work first just because of how much he liked the older cop's style. He questioned like Columbo and looked like Fish from Barney Miller. As he searched his wrinkled trench coat for a pen (which was in his shirt pocket where it always was) Hatton stood by the door with his arms crossed and stared, slipping into his role of intimidating silent cop.

Slater started out spouting the typical shit. Even though he knew they had him and knew he wouldn't survive the week without a deal for their protection, the yutz wasn't ready to accept his fate just yet. He still had to try and lie and paint himself as a victim of the notorious Manotti crime family rather than their enthusiastic toady.

After about fifteen minutes of self serving crap, Hatton decided it was time to step in and give him a shove. "So, you're telling us you're a hit man for the Manottis… but under duress." Disgust dripped from his tongue as he spoke, and his expression suggested it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Wha?...I…. NO!" Slater bolted upright in his bed, then groaned and fell back. Hatton managed not to smile. _That looked like it hurt._

"Look, all I did was wash money for them… I swear!" He was practically pleading with Cantor now, punctuating himself with panicky looks over at Hatton. "They just kept pushing me to do more. I was starting to get scared I couldn't cover it all. They don't even know about that bitch. But when I came back and found the files gone…"

"You knew Ms. Lewis had them because…" Cantor had this way of not making eye contact that was totally disarming, he just scribbled and flipped through his notes, peering at them over half-lens reading glasses. It was like your grandfather having a little trouble remembering what was said five minutes ago, so you'd fill it in for him automatically. Only it was new pieces of the puzzle you ended up supplying. By the time they figured it out, the humps had generally already dug themselves most of their own grave. It was only because he'd seen it so many times before that Hatton managed not to smile.

"She was the one who was always watching me." Slater supplied patiently. "Snooping… always looking in files she didn't belong in. You know the type. Self-appointed hall monitors of the world."

"But you never told the Manottis about her because…"

"I couldn't let them think I couldn't handle my business. If they thought I couldn't handle some stupid little office drone, they'd have lost respect for me."

"Which would mean their business wasn't safe with you and they'd have gone elsewhere." Cantor never looked up from his notes.

"Exactly," Slater was nodding at Cantor like he'd just ferried a particularly dim child through his ABC's. What a chump.

"So in order to prove yourself and move up…"

"I had to take care of her on my own." And… bam. There it was. The stupid faced look of realization they all got when they figured out what they'd just said. "That's it. I'm not saying any more until you get the DA in here with my deal. And my lawyer. And… someone from witness protection!!"

_Good enough,_ Hatton decided. He'd spill the rest when he had his precious deal, but he'd given them enough so he wouldn't be able to walk with his claim of duress. He'd do some hard time before waltzing into the ether that was the federal Wit Sec program.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally a new chapter after months and months! If it's any good at all, thanks go to squarey for her beta help. If it sucks... um... blame squarey! LOL! Anyway, please leave me a review so I'll know you haven't forgotten about me and are still interested in my little tale.


	11. Chapter 11

Det. Dennis Hatton left his partner to babysit Slater while he wandered off in search of the victim. Her statement had been taken by the detectives who originally responded to her home, but he liked to give everyone with a part to play in his case at least a quick size-up.

He wove his way through halls crowded with equipment and fast moving professionals heading in every direction. Turning through the double doors into the FastTrack department, he made his way over to the nurse's station to check in. Another charming smile, for a tired looking nurse this time, and he was waved on toward the third curtain-enshrouded bed on the left.

Carrie was done and ready to go home. Sitting with her coat in her lap, she waited for someone to finish up her paperwork and come back with a prescription for painkillers. She felt a little floaty from whatever they'd given her but happy to be feeling no pain. She'd wait for the script. Carrie was not too proud to take a nice, numbing prescription over a pounding head any day. _And twice on Sunday_, she smiled at the memory of her mom's old adage.

Her mind had wandered off to trying to remember all the lyrics of "Cloudy" by Simon and Garfunkle when she was startled by the skittery screech of the curtains opening. Instead of the scrubs she expected to see, there stood… _Robert Redford_. Her jaw dropped. Either the blow to the head or the drugs had scrambled her brain more than she thought.

"Ms… Lewis? Hi. I'm Detective Hatton, NYPD. Can I ask you a few questions?"_ Oh wait... no... not Robert Redford_…_ just a remarkably handsome stand-in with a concerned expression on his face._ _Yanno Carrie... this might be a good opportunity to close your mouth before he starts to wonder if you're mentally disabled_.

"Um… sure… but I already told everything to detective…whatshisname… back at my apartment… he was…" Carrie started digging around for her coat pockets where she'd stowed the other detective's card.

"Yes ma'am. As it turns out, your case overlaps the one my partner and I are already working on, so we'll be taking over from here on. So, Ms. Lewis. May I call you Caroline?"

"No." Why couldn't she find a pocket? She was so intent on the task she forgot what she was looking for in the first place. Blowing at her bangs, she looked back at the detective, her brow knit, hoping vaguely that the answer would be written on his forehead.

"All right… Ms. Lewis then. Can you just run through the events of the evening for me?"

"Okay, but please, call me Carrie."

Hatton suppressed a grin as she launched into the story. Interviews were interesting when painkillers were involved. Well, that could work to his advantage. It was sometimes useful to hear a story before a witness had it all together as well as after. Clues tended to lurk in the inconsistencies.

Force of habit had him filing first impressions as he listened and ran through the routine questions. Mid-thirties, straight dark brown hair, brown eyes, 5'6 maybe, 165 lbs, a little pale perhaps, but that was probably due to the injury under that big gauze bandage taped to her forehead. Pretty-ish. What had Slater called her? An office drone. Hmmm, somehow that didn't seem to fit.

He found himself shuffling the deck of typical New York types and coming up blank. Not one of the beautiful, bored stick figures Manhattan was littered with, not the sharp, take charge type, not the cool upper class thing, not reality-challenged artsy. Not the jaded, hard or worn out look of someone who's worked too hard or seen too much.

Shelving that line of thought for the time being, he turned his mind back to the interview at hand. Though she'd covered all the bases of her role in stealing Slater's files and his subsequent attack on her, Hatton sensed there was a subject she was circling around. It was time to drop a pebble into the middle of it and see what rippled out.

"Tell me more about the man who saved you."

Carrie took a moment to breathe and gather her wits. All the time she'd been talking, he had been taking notes, nodding here and there, listening to her. Nothing remarkable, yet after just a few minutes she got the feeling that he was a man who missed nothing. Perhaps she recognized it in him because she knew the quality so well in someone else.

"Okay well, what do you want to know? I didn't see him come in… I was knocked out."

"How about a description. Did you get a good look at him?"

"I don't know… maybe? It's all kind of jumbled in my mind" Carrie touched her fingertips to her bandaged forehead. _Hmm… nice touch or too much?_

_Hmm_... _Why now a touch of the frail victim? _Hatton watched her thoughtfully. Other than a few painkiller induced non-sequiturs, she hadn't played that card once until now. A tell?

"He was big, I think… tall... over six feet" _Powerful shoulders, strong arms, hands of a poet…_ "Dark hair and eyes." _Curls that caress when I thread my fingers through them__ …rich, bittersweet chocolate eyes that see right into me._ Carrie shook her head. This was not helping. "Ummm…40… ish… maybe?"

"You're sure you've never seen him in the building before… or around the neighborhood…?"

"No. Never"

Hatton rubbed a hand over his chin. Well she sounded pretty sure about that. Yet, when she was describing him there was something… else. It all lined up with what Slater had said before he clammed up. Still…

"Would you be willing to work with our sketch artist?" It wasn't something he really needed. The mystery man was a witness to events not in dispute and he wasn't a suspect, but the cop in him wanted to see what she'd do.

"Oh," Carrie was surprised by the request, but couldn't think of a good reason to refuse. Then she saw it. Hatton's eyes were on her, assessing her, probing for the cracks_. Crap_. "Okay, I suppose so. If it's important." _Oh now that was lame_.

_There it is_, Hatton thought. Surprise, okay, but then a hesitation while she tried to think of a way out of it. And then something he didn't expect… she made his game. It came a moment too late, but she saw that he'd tossed that question out just to throw her. No…this was not just some little office drone. But why the evasion? Why would she need to hide the man who saved her? Someone she knows maybe? Married lover she doesn't want to involve? Yet when she said she'd never seen him around, Hatton would have sworn on a stack that she was telling the truth.

Well, whatever she was or wasn't hiding, it was time to wrap this up. She was a witness, an injured one. _No need to push until there's a need to push._ "All right Ms. Lewis… Carrie… I'll let you know if we need that sketch. In the meantime, it would be best for you not to talk about the case with anyone. Take a few sick days from work. If anyone asks about your injury, I want you to say you were mugged or tripped in the shower. We don't think the people Slater is involved with know about you or would be terribly interested in you if they did, but the less attention you attract, the better. If you remember anything, need anything, notice anything out of the ordinary, you give me a call. I'll be in touch."

It wasn't until Hatton had turned over his card and headed back down the hall that it dawned on him… the quality about Carrie he hadn't managed to identify earlier. It was the look in her eyes… the look of someone on an adventure. He just hoped it wasn't an adventure that would entangle her further with the mob. Whatever it was, he was sure her unidentified rescuer was at the center of it.

Cantor had his cell phone to his ear near the reception desk and the partners headed out together. They'd left a uniform guarding Slater. As they walked through the waiting area to the doors, Hatton glanced over to the far corner, but the big cop who'd drawn his eye earlier was gone. It probably didn't mean anything, but like everything else, it got filed away. One thing his years as a detective had taught him, you never knew what would ultimately become useful.

With the sharp-eyed detective gone, Carrie finally hit the wall. The adrenaline and excitement of the past several hours deserted her and she was exhausted. If the nurse hadn't finally came back with some papers for her to sign and the prescription, she would have fallen asleep right there on the exam table. She sorted out her misbehaving coat and shrugged into it, thinking about nothing more than home and her big, warm bed. And the big, warm man she hoped would still be there.

As she headed down the hall, the nurse called after her. "Don't forget this! You left it on the exam table." Carrie looked at the small, white card and read it for the first time. She let out a sound that was half laugh, half choke, alarming the nurse. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." She coughed for cover. "I'm fine. Thanks so much." She tucked the card in her pocket but the words emblazoned on it floated in front of her as she walked.

Dennis F. Hatton

NYPD Major Case Squad.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I know... it was a Bobbyless chapter. Hang in there with me. I promise, the next chapter will be all Bobby


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Here's the "Bobby chapter", as promised! I promise not to have chapters without him for a while. :) Thanks to squarey for helping me work out the bugs. Please let me know what you think. I've barely got Chapter 13 started, so I need inspiration!

* * *

Bobby Goren watched the two detectives round the information desk and disappear into the ER though a pair of heavy, swinging doors. He called on all of his self control to keep his ass in his chair and not pacing the floor. It was coming home to him exactly how hamstringed he was here. As a cop, he was used to having access to almost any place and any thing he needed. Here, he couldn't even stay with Carrie in the ER for fear of the unanswerable questions it could give rise to. He scrubbed his hands over his face, scratchy with day old stubble. Linking his long fingers together, he propped his chin on his thumbs and let himself marinate in the frustration.

His ruminations were interrupted by the woosh of electric doors and the accompanying billow of cold air. A guy walked in, mid-forties, medium build, thinning black hair, blue windbreaker. Despite his average appearance, Goren felt a chill that had nothing to do with dissipating outside air. The man skipped the reception desk and headed for a door marked "stairs" to the right.

_Now why would a man coming through the ER doors head for the stairs?_ That stairwell wouldn't connect directly to the patient rooms or offices in rest of the hospital, because there was no floor directly above them. So… lower levels. Locker and break rooms, kitchens, maintenance, the morgue. If his knowledge of the building was correct, there was an employee entrance that was closer to parking and the nearest subway and bus stops. There was no reason to come through these doors in order to get to those places.

The feeling in Goren's gut pushed him across the lobby and into the stairwell just in time to hear the metal door on the lower level clunk shut. Descending quickly, he peered through the small rectangular window just in time to see the blue windbreaker round the corner to the left, up the main corridor. Taking care to be silent, he followed into the corridors of the basement level. He might not have been able to articulate just what tipped him off, but it was like Logan always said, the day he couldn't spot the crook in the room is the day they could give him the gold watch.

He made a show of turning right into the main corridor in order to get a glance left, but the ploy was unnecessary. Blue windbreaker was not in eyeshot. At the end of the hall, yet another stairwell door was just clunking shut, kicking his cop instinct into full gear.

As he double timed it down the hall, Goren passed a cleaning cart parked outside a men's room with a maintenance uniform jacket tossed across it. He shrugged into it, getting lucky that it was only a little tight around the shoulders. Pulling a dust broom from the rack, he hurried through the door and took the stairs up two at a time. But as he emerged into the busy hall of the ER main floor, the blue windbreaker was nowhere in sight.

Goren put the duster to the floor and pushed it along the corridor, melding into the ER traffic of bustling nurses, distracted doctors and overextended orderlies all hurrying to finish up the last of their duties before the shift change at seven. This corridor was a central artery connecting the different areas of the emergency department, which branched off right and left toward the front or back of the building. It was the perfect place to blend and watch. Everyone around him was heading someplace else, so as long as he kept moving, he wouldn't attract attention and he had long, clear views down the branching corridors on either side.

On his first pass, he located Slater's room by the presence of the uniformed guard outside the door. Somewhere on the other side of the ER, Carrie was still being seen as well. Bobby didn't know where and it gnawed at him. But frustration wasn't a benign thing now. It distorted his perceptions and hazed his judgment and it had to go. He took a deep breath and forced everything to the back but the situation at hand. With his head feeling clearer, his cop instinct poked at him to keep an eye on Slater.

Sure enough, on his forth or fifth pass, a ringing metallic crash erupted at the far end of Slater's hallway near the nurse's station. A tremendous bear of a man in a hospital gown came lurching into view, hollering and dripping blood from one arm where his IV had been ripped out. He held the IV stand up in one giant paw and brandished it at the circle of people that rippled around him.

A couple of orderlies saw an opening and jumped him, but the guy had the wild-eyed look of a drug overdose and was the size of a refrigerator on legs. They were gonna need help. Obviously the same thought had occurred to the uniform. He was already on his feet and headed into the fray.

Bobby automatically moved in that direction too, but just after he passed Slater's room, he saw the blue windbreaker sidle unnoticed from the room the rampaging patient had burst from. Goren kept walking, his eyes on the calamity ahead as middle aged man passed him. Every sense on high alert now, he didn't need to look to know the exact moment the man glanced back down the hall before entering Slater's room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Goren spun around and followed him. He hadn't been more than a dozen steps away, but when he slipped through the door, the man in the blue windbreaker was already standing over the sleeping Slater, about to insert a syringe into his IV line.

"Hey!" At Goren's exclamation, he dropped the syringe, a switchblade springing into his hand from nowhere. Icy, flat eyes assessed him for a long moment without fear, passion or excitement. They were the eyes of a cold blooded killer.

Wielding the broom he still carried like a staff, Goren faked high, then spun the duster around from below, sending the knife spinning out of his assailant's hand. Not wasting a moment on surprise, the man reached down for the .22 he had holstered on his ankle. Before he could get there, Goren rushed him, attempting to push him upright and pin him against the wall with the rod.

It would have worked too, but with the shorter man already in mid-crouch, his aim was high. Instead of pinning his target across the chest, which would have limited the mobility of his arms, Goren caught him across the throat. He leaned in, cutting into the man's air supply and trying to use his greater size to plaster his adversary against the wall, but the smaller man was too quick. Before Goren could fix his stance, the man threw a hard, whip-fast jab straight to the bundle of nerves just under Goren's right armpit.

The right side of his body seemed to implode in a lightning strike of searing white pain. Goren tried to fall into his attacker to take him down, but he'd already used the moment to his advantage and twisted free. Lurching after him, Goren managed only to grab the back of his windbreaker. Without missing a step, the hired gun slipped his arms free and was out the door. Goren staggered after him, but by the time he got to the door, the assassin was gone.

Bent over at the waist, Bobby turned to grip the footboard of the hospital bed with both hands. For a minute or two all he could do was fight to pull air into the tight fist of pain that was his right lung. A fraction at a time, the grip lessened, though the sizzling pain did not. When he was finally able to lift his head, he was greeted by the sight of Slater cowering on the bed in front of him.

"Wh…. Who are you? How… how did you find me??" This was a much different Slater than the one he'd thrown into a wall only a few hours before. With his hospital gown, IV and bandages on his head, he looked small… afraid… pitiful. But it didn't take any effort at all for Bobby to pull up the image of Carrie's face, left side covered with blood, eyes wide and scared. No. Just because he was pitiful didn't mean he deserved pity.

"You know who I am, Slater."

"N… no. No I don't."

"I'm the reason you're here… and the reason you're _still_ here. Now I need answers and I don't have time to play games with you."

Slater said nothing. He just shivered and blinked owlishly.

"That guy. Who is he? You seen him before?" The words were terse… short… bitten off.

"No! N… never"

"Did you call anyone? Who knows you're here?"

"Nobody. I swear. I… I don't even think they called my lawyer yet. Who _are_ you??"

Goren didn't bother to acknowledge the question. "Who wants you dead?"

Slater just stared.

"I mean besides me, Slater. Who sent a professional hit with your name on it?"

"It… I… I worked for the Manottis."

"You need to be more… specific." Goren knew his voice sounded harsh. That was intentional. What he didn't know, and couldn't fake if he wanted to, was the blade edge of barely controlled violence in his eyes.

"Carlo. Carlo Manotti was the only one I ever talked to. H… he's Dominic Manotti's youngest son. He was gonna introduce me to his father. I never met anyone else. I swear!" Slater held on the bed's rails for dear life as though he thought it a distinct possibility that he'd be killed for not having more information.

Goren straightened painfully, surprised to find the would-be killer's windbreaker still in his hand. As he turned for the door, Slater's plaintive voice called out.

"Wait!" Goren paused but didn't turn his head. "What if he comes back?"

"As soon as I'm out of the door, hit the call button for the nurse. That should bring the cavalry back down here.

Out in the hall, he glanced back toward the nurse's station to see they'd gotten the OD guy sedated. The cop and the orderlies were occupied with hefting his limp body up onto a gurney.

Goren slipped back down the stairs and looked at the windbreaker still in his hands. He rummaged through the jacket's pockets and found a pack of Camels and a matchbook from a strip club. There was also a blank envelope, the kind that comes enclosed with a power bill. On the back was scrawled: **_ Slater St. Luke's Exam 4, ER_**

Retracing his steps, Goren dropped the maintenance jacket he'd been wearing on the cart where he found it. Tucking the blue windbreaker under his arm, he jogged up the second staircase, through the lobby and out into the cold, bright morning. If these Manottis could find Slater that fast, there was an excellent chance they could find Carrie as well.


	13. Chapter 13

Carrie felt like her legs were made of wet clay as she climbed the two flights of stairs to her third floor walk up. She honestly could not remember ever being so weary in her life. Even the dull throb that had returned to her head seemed paltry in comparison to the utter leadenness that permeated the rest of her.

As she stumbled through her front door, she knew intuitively that the apartment was empty. Even so, she looked in the bedroom and bathroom, automatically turning off the lights that had been left on. Wandering through the living room, she dropped her coat on the sofa on her way to the kitchen. There were dark smudges all over the place from fingerprint dust. Filling a glass of orange juice from the fridge, she downed half of it in three big gulps. Tired as she was, it felt like pouring liquid sunshine into her veins.

Polishing off the last of it, Carrie leaned a hip against the counter and set her glass in the sink. For a long minute she stared at her dinner dishes from the night before. There was spaghetti sauce dried on a bowl and fork, but it seemed to her that there ought to be cobwebs stretched across them. It felt like a year since she heated up that leftover pasta, absentmindedly leaving the dishes in the sink without rinsing them.

Sleep. Every fiber of her body was aching to get horizontal and unconscious as quickly as possible. _NO... I have to find Bobby. _She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, summoning the willpower to propel herself back out the door and down the block to the corner coffee shop to look for him. She summoned her inner drill sergeant. _ Move it... now_. Pushing off the counter, she took a step toward the door.

The faint scrape of a key in the lock sent a chill through her. Carrie froze in her tracks. Her mind spun and reeled as she heard the lock disengage. She was trapped. Her phone was on the hall table next to the door, and the fire escape was outside her bedroom window, past the door. Hastily, she scanned around her for something she could use to defend herself. The chef's knife in the drawer next to the stove was the obvious choice, and she snatched it up. On impulse, she also grabbed a can of chili from the cupboard. A well placed throw might distract the intruder long enough to give her an opening.

* * *

Bobby took the two blocks from the subway to the apartment building at a fast jog. This was only partly due to his desire to get back to Carrie as soon as possible. The temperature had inched up a few degrees with the sun, but it was still far too cold for the thin, gray-blue chambray shirt and gray flannel slacks he had on.

Taking the shortcut through the alley, he looked up to her third floor windows just in time to see the lights go out in her bedroom. _Good... she's getting some rest_. A tall jogger ran up and used a key to enter the building. A blond teenager with a cocker spaniel on a leash passed him in the vestibule on her way out. Deciding on a quick perimeter check before heading in, Bobby crossed the street and slipped around the side of the building.

* * *

Carrie heard two things: heavy, male footsteps that paused inside the door and the hammering of her own blood in her ears. The steps turned and walked away from her down the hallway toward the bedroom. This was it. The bedroom was the only place in the apartment where the intruder wouldn't be between her and the door.

There was no more time for thought. She ran as quietly as she could toward the door, arm coiled, chili can up and ready. She wasn't naïve enough to think she could stop a killer with a can, this was not a thriller and she wasn't Tom Cruise, but hopefully it would throw him off just long enough for her to make it through the door and get a head start down the stairs.

She'd made it as far as the living room end of the hallway when he reappeared. Carrie couldn't see his face, just the huge outline of a man nearly filling the bedroom door frame, backlit by the morning sunlight that filled the room behind him. Choking down the panic that threatened to paralyze her, Carrie pitched her can of chili as hard as she could at the man's head. He ducked a little too slow for it to miss him completely, but there was no time to feel satisfaction at the small grunt of pain.

Lunging for the door, she got her hand around the handle and twisted. It didn't budge. _NO!!_ Forgetting all about the knife still clutched in the left hand, she let it clatter to the floor as she fumbled frantically with the deadbolt and chain. When two big hands came around her on either side and swallowed her smaller ones, she screamed. When arms banded around her, pinning her tight against a massive chest, she kicked and fought, but his superior size and strength were far too great for her struggles to be of any use.

* * *

Satisfied that all ground level windows were barred and the service door was securely padlocked, Bobby made his way back around to the locked front door of the building and frowned at it. He didn't want to ring the apartment to be buzzed in if she was finally resting, but standing here shivering like an idiot until someone else appeared and maybe hopefully let him in wasn't appealing either.

His head tipped left as a thought occurred to him. Sure enough, when he reached into his pocket, his fingers connected with his own set of keys. _I wonder_, he mused, thinking of all the odd similarities between Carrie's apartment and the one he'd left behind. Pulling them out, he slid his own front door key smoothly into the lock, twisting it clockwise with a well oiled click. _Bingo._

Ascending the two flights quickly, he paused at the apartment door. As quietly as he could, he unlocked it and slipped in, pausing to set the chain and deadbolt behind him. Turning left in the shadowy, windowless hallway, he tiptoed to the bedroom door and eased it open, wincing at the creak of a cranky floorboard.

The room wasn't large, but still not bad for a New York apartment. The pale, silvery lavender hue of the walls echoed the early morning light streaming through the two tall windows and across the bed. The empty bed. Carrie's purse and gloves sat at the foot, but the room was empty. _She's here, but not sleeping. I didn't hear the shower… why didn't she say hello when I came in?_

At the sound of running feet, Bobby turned back and stepped into the doorway just in time to see Carrie's arm fling something at him. Surprise had him ducking a bit late, the projectile glancing off his left shoulder. For a moment he stood dumbfounded with shock… until a knife clattered to the floor at her feet. Then he saw it, the terror on her face as she desperately tried to work the locks. _Good Christ… Carrie…_ He called her name but she seemed not to hear him. Stepping behind her, he reached around to cover her hands but she screamed. Not knowing what else to do to calm her down, Bobby wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug.

"Carrie… CARRIE… C'mon baby… it's me… it just me…" Over and over until she finally heard him and stopped fighting. Twisting in his arms, she looked up at him, eyes wide with shock.

"B…Bobby?"

He relaxed his hold, then caught her up tight again when her legs crumpled under her. As the fear and fight leaked out of her, it was replaced by heavy, racking sobs that shook her body, one after another. Her arms snaked up around his neck and held tight. Bobby buried his face in the silk of her hair, murmuring things he hoped were reassuring.

"I don't… don't know why… I'm crying..." Her words came out in little hiccupping bursts.

"Sometimes it happens this way." His voice was such a low, comforting murmur; Carrie imagined she was hearing it as vibrations through his chest. She pressed her cheek to the heat of his skin radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt. "It's your body's reaction to the stress. Just let it happen."

Already his warmth was seeping through her. With each breath she felt a little more in control, a little less desperate. "I… I hate this… I hate feeling like this." Any desperation at all was intolerable to her. It always had been. As she gained her composure, her overwhelming instinct was to fight it.

She lifted her head to look up into his eyes, so full of compassion and just a crinkle of humor around the edges. "I don't know." His brow furrowed in mock seriousness. "You feel pretty good to me."

Carrie coughed out a little laugh and hugged him harder, grateful he knew so well that what she needed was not more coddling, but a change of mood. "I don't… want to feel like this anymore."

"No?" A gentle smile caught the corners of his mouth as his head dipped into that charming, familiar tilt. "You have another feeling in mind?"

"Yeah." Even when Carrie pushed up on her toes, she couldn't reach his mouth. Instead she reached for his neck, specifically the pulse point just under the line of his jaw. Hovering for just a fraction of a second, she let her breath warm the spot, before pressing in with her lips and tongue. His sharp intake of air did more for her state of mind than an hour of soothing whispers ever could have.

"Carrie… honey, wait… what are you doing?" The tremor in his voice had her smiling into the scruff that had accumulated since the last time she'd kissed this spot.

"Hmmm… I don't know. If you have to ask, I must not be doing it right." Her voice was a sexy purr that was making it very difficult for him to put two thoughts together in order. That and the way she was taking his pulse with her tongue. The light-speed shifting of gears momentarily paralyzed his mind and body. For at least a minute and a half, Bobby quite literally had no idea what to think. That was until she moved up to his jaw and bit him.

Okay, it was more like a nip, but it jolted him out of his state of suspended animation. His head snapped forward and then his mouth was on hers, tongue barely pausing to greet her lips before losing himself in the warm sweetness of her.

Hands in motion now, he was ready for her when she hopped up to wrap her legs around him, catching her and holding her up to his height. Her body wasn't tiny, but it was flexible, strong and so unbelievably sexy locked around his. She was exquisitely soft and yielding but her passion was determined… even demanding. The contradiction ignited a hunger in him that threatened to burn down what was left of his self control.

When her hips rocked against him he knew the time was running short when necking in this hallway would be enough for either of them. Bobby knew the apartment's layout like that back of his hand, so he didn't need to open his eyes or interrupt his comprehensive exploration of her mouth in order to navigate the few steps to the bedroom. Bodies tangled together, they tumbled onto the bed as one creature, her purse falling unnoticed to the floor. The hands that were no longer occupied holding her up were now free to roam and seemed to need to touch every inch of her.

_Too many clothes._ Even as the thought crossed his brain, her hands were under his shirt, pushing the fabric toward his shoulders. Bobby pulled back to help the process along but froze at the sight of her. At any other time, the lovely rosy flush of her skin, the sleek tumble of her hair on the bed, the light panting of her breath between lips that were parted and swollen from his kisses would have wiped every coherent thought from his head. But at this moment, none of it was enough to distract him from the humbling sight of the white bandage on her forehead. The reality of all she'd been through in the last twelve hours flooded back to him and he cursed himself for forgetting it even for a minute.

"Carrie… honey… this isn't a good idea. Your body needs rest to recover."

His argument sounded reasonable to his ears, but the determined look that shifted into her eyes told him that convincing her was going to be an uphill battle.

"Bobby, listen to me." Carrie reached up to lay a hand on his cheek but saw him working out his next argument rather than really paying attention to what she had to say. "Hey," she reached for his arm this time, with a hard pinch. "I said _listen_." His brow furrowed but at least now she had his attention. "I hear what you're saying. But the fact is, I wasn't really hurt badly at all. It's just a little bump on the head."

He tried to interject something about concussions, but she cut him off. "Stop it. It's not bad. They didn't even hesitate sending me home alone." Her fingers tightened on his arms, but it was the intensity in her eyes that conveyed just how badly she needed him to hear her. "But you are right too… I'm not really okay. This whole night was been a blur of hurt and fear and confusion. I… I'm shaken and I just can't take any more."

Tears started to well in her eyes again, and he could see what it cost her to fight them back, to keep her voice even and make her point logically so he would listen to her. In the face of all that courage, how could he give anything less than exactly what she needed from him? Even in her weakest moment, she was a pillar of strength.

"Please Bobby. Help me. I can't stand feeling like this anymore. Help me feel something else…"

This time, when she reached for him, all he saw was her.


End file.
